


Threshold

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-09
Updated: 2009-03-09
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Toby and Annabeth attempt to understand each other.





	1. Threshold

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: Not really a specific time frame for this Tobby/Annabeth snippet -- some point soon after Annabeth gets hired. I haven't decided if this will be a pairing. I'm just sort of playing around for right now.  


* * *

He opened the door and there she was, sitting straight-back in her chair (HIS chair), with her miniscule, manicured hands folded calmly on the desktop.

“Open mouth, insert foot, Mr. Ziegler — I think you’ve made an art form of it.”

He threw up his arms. “Locks. There need to be locks, and — and signs.”

“I assume you are referring to the security of your office?” She gave an innocent smile. “If you don’t want me in here, you should just say so.”

“I DON'T want you in here — I want — There need to be guard dogs — Pit Bulls!”

He approached her threateningly, and, perhaps slightly alarmed, she shot from her chair (HIS chair) and proceeded to make a hasty exit. But she stopped just outside the door, turning smartly on her heels to face him with a startling grace. “I’ll just stand right here, then—how’s that?”

His teeth were grinding, the paper in his hand crumpled almost beyond recognition, but he let the scathing retort die on his tongue. He was tired and there was still a lot to do. With a deep sigh, he settled himself behind the desk, rubbing distractedly at his forehead.

“…The briefing was fine,” he said, when she still had not moved.

“Do you remember when I said you had a watchable quality?”

He waited a moment to reshuffle a stack of papers before replying. “…Yes.”

“Well, I really meant it in a train-wreck sort of way — you know, how you can’t tear your eyes away from the immanent carnage? – where everything continues to descend into this downward spiral, and despite the voice in the back of your head screaming at you that it’s morally reprehensible to derive such perverse pleasure from the death and destruction, you kinda sorta wish there was a little more blood?” 

He stood. “Enormous Pit Bulls! With teeth — and rabies — and that like to gnaw the arms off small people!”

She gave a jump. “Alright, alright, no need to be size-ist.”

“Remove yourself from my doorway.”

She smiled again. “I can see that you’re busy.” At last, she walked away, but within half a second, she was there again, poking her perky blond head inside his office. “Also, I’ll be back later tonight — because I'm here for you, and you've still got such a long way to go, if you don't mind me saying.”

“Locks! Signs! A moat if I have to dig it myself!”

“Okay, now you’re just being silly.”

"Remove yourself!"

"Right-o."

For God's sake — she winked at him. Winked at him.

This had to stop.

Today.


	2. Threshold

“Good evening, good evening.”

There she was again, poised in his doorway, all twinkle and teeth. Just as she had promised.

He glared. “Has no one accidentally put their foot down and stepped on you yet?”

“There were a few close calls in the hallway. C.J. had a briefing to her nose and I had to dive into the arms of a passing stranger to avoid death by stiletto—but nothing serious. I appreciate the concern, though, Mr. Zeigler. Thanks for asking.”

“…Don’t mention it.”

“I see you haven’t had a chance yet to dig that moat of yours.”

“Couldn’t find the shovels.”

“May I come in?”

“Assuming that no matter what I say, you will be doing so anyway—of course. By all means.”

“Thank you.”

“Again, don’t mention it.” He noticed something in her hand and did a brief double-take. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“In your hand—what is that?”

She cocked her head, and, in a prompt, irritating manner, said quite simply, “Booze.”

He blinked. “Are you kidding?”

“I think we both know you could use a little loosening up. You’re never going to learn if you aren’t receptive, and you’re never going to be receptive unless…well, let’s face it, you’re probably never going to be receptive, but I’m giving it my best shot here.” She giggled. “Shot. Schott. That was unintentional…”

He resisted the urge to hurl a stapler at her head. “Hilarious,” he muttered. “You are quite simply hilarious. But,” he stood, “as appealing as the thought of getting HAMMERED with you in an enclosed space within reach of many sharp objects and no witness to speak of...IS, I am going home in five minutes. That door is closing in FIVE MINUTES, and it’s going to stay closed—no matter which side of it you’re on.”

“You see, that was funny. Blatant insults and threats on my life notwithstanding, I am beginning to detect, however faintly, a bit of an amusing wit behind all that sarcasm. There’s charm in you yet, Mr. Ziegler, and damned if I don’t find it within the next hour.”

“Damned if you aren’t the most…You astound me, you absolutely—I have never in my life wanted to throw someone into the path of oncoming traffic as strongly as I do at this moment.”

“Again with the death threats. Actually, you know what? Let’s start there, let’s make death threats square one. Nothing pisses off a reporter more than a threat on his life—well, other than that pesky little ‘no comment’ phrase which everyone here seems so fond of using. That, I think it’s safe to say, will serve very nicely as square two. Because for a man who likes words as much as you do, Mr. Ziegler, you never seem to have any when you get up to that podium, do you? Not the right ones anyway. ”

“Go home. I mean it. I’m not drinking booze with you—or—talking to you, even.”

“You can keep saying that—”

“What?”

“You can keep telling me to go home, or to leave your office, or to wander blindfolded into the middle of a busy intersection, but I think we both know you’re going to do the right thing in the end—you’re going to do your job.”

“My JOB? My JOB is getting drunk and—?”

“Your job, among other things, now includes personifying this administration. You are not only the voice of the White House anymore, but the face of it too. It’s your job to make us look good, to smooth things over and calm the panic.”

“I am perfectly capable of—I don’t need YOU to—”

“Oh, but you do. You very much most certainly do. Because, you see, now that you’re representing the President, you’ve got me here to help you. My job, in other words, is to fix you up nice, give you a good smack on the butt, and send you into the lions’ den with a wink and a smile that’ll charm their socks off.”

“What the hell kind of lions live in your zoo?”

“Pardon? I mean the reporters. The reporters are the lions.”

“Of all the lions I’ve ever seen—and, granted, I haven’t seen that many roaming down Pennsylvania Avenue—I don’t believe any of them were wearing socks.”

“Ah. Yes. It was a terrible analogy, I’ll grant you that. But you see my point, don’t you?”

“I really wish I didn’t.”

“Just drink the scotch, Toby—like it would kill you.”

“I’m afraid it would kill YOU.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You’ll take your…? This is not happening. This is just not…”

“Here.”

All out of nowhere she had pressed a shot glass (full to the brim) into his hand. He looked at it and laughed.

She smiled at him. “Knock it back, Ziegler! Just call upon the gag reflexes of that strapping young frat boy from Brooklyn I know is in there somewhere.”

“You are a persistent, tenacious little insect.”

“I wouldn’t put it quite that way—but yes, yes I am.

“Don’t you ever…?”

“Give up? Nope, not ever.”

“I’ve got news for you, my tiny friend.” Slowly, pointedly, he set the shot glass down on his desk. “Neither do I.”

“Alright. Look, how about a deal?”

“A deal? So soon? And here I thought you were bantering quite admirably…”

“Give me one hour—”

“An HOUR?”

“Just one measly little hour, and after it’s over I’ll never bother you again…in this office.”

“No, please. If you make the offer too sweet, I’ll be forced to take it.”

“Forty-five minutes, then. And I’ll even take makeup off the table.”

“When was makeup ON the table?”

“That’s my final offer, Toby—and while you’re considering, I’ll remind you to keep in mind all those fond memories of what it was like to sit here at your desk…alone…enjoying the peace and quiet of an early morning…before—”

“Yes! Okay! Alright, okay! Forty-five minutes and then you’re out of here.”

“Sounds good.”

“But if I have to drink, you’re drinking too—In fact, you have to match me shot for shot.”

“Shot for Schott? Pun intended, I hope.”

“If only I were that clever.”

“Mr. Ziegler, are you shamelessly preying upon my startling yet adorable lack of height in a sleazy attempt to undermine our deal?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m assuming that you’re plan is to get me plastered and incoherent so as to render this hour entirely useless.”

“Forty-five minutes. And that is my plan. Yeah.”

“Well, that’s dandy. But just so you know, I’m sturdier than you think.”

“I’M sturdier than you think.”

“Still, I have the feeling your plan might go awry.”

“I want you to know that your time has started and isn’t going to stop for anything. So if you want to do something, do it, or else—”

“Get out of your office?”

“Something along those lines.”

“Well, then. By all means. Let’s get started.”


End file.
